


Tangled Up (Right About Now)

by HunterByDayWhovianByNight



Series: He's a Silver Lining, Lone Ranger Riding [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blindfolds, Bottom Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin is an ass man, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Enthusiastic Consent, Flirty Din Djarin, M/M, Reunion Sex, The Mandalorian (TV) Season 2, Top Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27500962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterByDayWhovianByNight/pseuds/HunterByDayWhovianByNight
Summary: "I wanted to take him homeand rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into hislike a crash test car." ―Richard SikenDin's come back to fulfill that promise he made to Cobb, and he plans to deliver well on it.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Series: He's a Silver Lining, Lone Ranger Riding [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009809
Comments: 53
Kudos: 707





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy everyone! This is a little delayed, but I figured posting the first part would motivate me to keep writing and post the second part! No explicit smut in this chapter, just a LOT of flirting. Big thank you to BatmanWhoLaughss for the beta on this one! Hope you enjoy! Title is from "Burnin' It Down" by Jason Aldean.
> 
> ~Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din comes back to Mos Pelgo to visit a very special Marshal.

“Mando.”

“Marshall.”

Din tries to hide just how much he wants to pull Cobb’s body towards him and give him a Keldabe kiss, their arms around each other’s shoulders and foreheads pressed together. He knows Cobb’s body will be warm, solid. The last time he was here, they spent a night sleeping next to each other in the Tusken camp, with their backs touching. And even then, despite Din’s beskar’gam, he could feel how warm Cobb’s body was. Now, he itches to pull that thin red shirt up and out of those pants— the ones that are _still_ stretched nicely over his ass— and run his hands under the shirt and over his hard muscle, scarred skin, warm body… he wonders if Cobb will like the sensation of his gloves on his bare skin. 

“Hope you haven’t had too much trouble ‘round here since last time,” Din says matter-of-factly as he all but waltzes into the cantina, hands on his belt. Cobb smiles that bright, white-toothed smile Din grew fond of all those months ago as he watches him walk into the room. He downs the last of his spotchka and gets off his stool to meet the other man halfway between the bar and the door. He extends an arm to Cobb, one that he takes; they grab each other’s forearms in the way brothers in arms or comrades would, but then… Cobb pulls him in for a hug. Cobb claps his free hand on his beskar and Din has to push away the thought of Cobb raking his nails down his back in pleasure. _Later,_ he reminds himself. 

“It’s good to see you again.” Cobb says it like a confession, his face buried in the shoulder of Din’s armor. Cobb lets his embrace linger as he slowly pulls away from Din, but Din keeps him close by shifting his grip from Cobb’s shoulder to his waist. He stops his fingers from squeezing Cobb’s waist— though the thought of is quite a tempting one. He’s broken out of it when Cobb asks where the kid is. 

“He’s with a friend in Mos Eisley. He’s safe with her there.” When Peli had found out _all_ about Cobb and the little promise he and Din made to each other the last time Din was on Tatooine, she insisted on watching the kid so that he could go back to Mos Pelgo without any, as she put it, “unwelcome disturbances.” The implication was there and Din hoped that Cobb was picking up what he was laying down: that he was here to fulfill that promise with no barriers. 

Cobb gives Din a flirty little eyebrow raise and a mischievous smirk. “I thought that maybe you’d have forgotten about me.” He fingers the rough fabric of Din’s little cape and slides his other hand over Din’s shoulder to rest on his breastplate. If it weren’t for the beskar, Din would swear that he could feel the burning trail of Cobb’s hand. 

“I’m a Mandalorian. Mandalorians don’t go back on their word,” Din says with a firm voice. He separates from Cobb’s embrace, already feeling the loss of his warm body against the places on his body where he wasn’t covered by cold, hard beskar. “Let’s get you a drink or two and then…” he trails off. He raises a similarly suggestive, flirtatious eyebrow at Cobb, but realizes too late that the other man can’t see it. He hopes that the small turn of his head and shrugging of his shoulders is implication enough. 

“Then what, Mando?” Cobb asks with that same flirty, self-satisfied look on his face. He picks the spotchka jug and his glass up from the bar, but leans over the barstool in a way that appears to be for the sole purpose of showing off his ass. If Din were another man, and perhaps a more brazen one at that, he would have given it a playful smack. 

“Then we’ll see where things go.”

When Cobb is done retrieving the spotchka and paying, Din takes his cue to lead them to a free table at the back of the cantina. He rests his hand low on Cobb’s back, just above the waistband of his pants, and guides him through the maze of tables and chairs. 

It’s thrilling, almost, to do this. It’s just past sunset, at the start of the standard weekend, and there’s quite a few people in this cantina. He had ignored all of the stares and little whispers when he walked in and returned Cobb’s hug. But now, as he walked them to an empty table at the back of the cantina, _his_ hand on _Cobb’s_ back and Cobb following with such ease, he basked in it. He hadn’t felt this bold about taking a partner in a long time. He wanted people to know that he’d come back for Cobb. 

They sit, and Cobb pours himself more spotchka. Din leans back against the wall, getting comfortable, and just watches Cobb. He’s chosen the seat directly across from him, which makes it easy for Din to read Cobb’s eyes and body language. They’re silent for a bit— which is strange for Cobb, who always seems to have something to say— but it gives them time to ease into… whatever they are. Din feels his blood running a little hotter knowing that in just a little while, he’ll have Cobb in his bed.

Subconsciously, Din finds himself spreading his legs just a tad wider than he normally would, though it doesn’t matter since they’re hidden beneath the table. But he finds that it helps him sink into that posture his past partners found attractive on him: dominant, flirty in a more masculine way. He wants to pull Cobb onto his lap and keep him there like a prize, running his hand over his inner thighs and keeping a possessive hand firm on his waist. He wishes they could skip the pleasantries and go right to the Crest, but Din knows in the back of his mind that Cobb needs to be eased into it, needs to be teased and worked up a little before Din asks him to come back. 

(Or maybe it’s just that Cobb makes Din _want_ to drag this out, tease him and work him up until he’s begging to get fucked. Din doesn’t know and doesn’t care.)

“So… where you been, Mando? There been a lull in intergalactic adventures?” Cobb takes a sip of spotchka and leans his elbows on the table. He drops his voice to a whisper. “Or did you just miss me?”

Din lets out a steady, even breath. He’s trying to decide whether or not to tease Cobb, but the twinkle of desire he sees in Cobb’s eyes is enough for Din to settle on yes. He leans forward, puts his hand under Cobb’s chin, and keeps Cobb’s gaze fixed squarely on him. “And if I told you that I missed you, would it go right to your ego?” Cobb chuckles and swats Din’s hand away from his chin. 

“I don’t know about my ego, but it does make a guy feel pretty special knowing that he’s got a Mandalorian willing to trek halfway across the galaxy just for him.” Cobb uses it as his cue to shift to the seat right next to Din. He keeps his eyes focused on Din’s T-visor. He’s so close that Din can smell the spotchka on his breath; Din wants to kiss him, taste the alcohol on his tongue. 

Now that they’re so close, Din can tell that Cobb wants to say more, confess something— he’s holding back, trying to be proud. His breathing is heavier, his pupils are dilated a little more, and his lips are parted just so. He keeps his eyes on where Din’s should be, licks his lips, and places a tentative hand on Din’s thigh, letting his fingers curl over the beskar thigh guard so that his fingertips are pressing into Din’s inner thigh. 

“You sure you wanna do that with others around?” Din asks, huskily whispering into Cobb’s ear. Cobb’s eyes flutter shut and he gasps, just barely, and Din smirks to himself. But still, Cobb’s fingertips press into his thigh teasingly, fleetingly. It takes all Din has to not move Cobb’s hand just a little higher up. 

“Just testing the waters, Mando,” Cobb replies. He removes his hand, skating his fingers back over the thigh guard and back up to the table to pour more spotchka. “Just making sure you’re still interested. Kinda hard to tell if you still want me or not when your face is all covered.” Cobb leans against the wall, too, and slowly swirls his cup around, the bright blue liquid threatening to spill over the brim.

“As if someone who saw you once would be able to think about wanting anyone else, _Marshal,”_ Din retorts. According to the heat sensors in his helmet, Cobb blushes. The dim light of the back of the cantina would have made it hard to see the redness bloom on his cheeks and up his neck without it. “And I’ll have you know that I’m still interested. _Very_ interested.” Din bites his lip and slips his hand under the table, just like Cobb had with him. He puts a hand on Cobb’s knee and relishes for a moment in the way Cobb jumps at the touch. “But I wanna make you wait for it.” He punctuates it by rubbing slow, easy circles into Cobb’s knee. “Unless… you’re not interested in taking things a little slow, hot shot.”

“No!” Cobb cries out, attracting the attention of a few other cantina patrons, who turn their heads to look at a very calm, collected Mandalorian and their flustered, frazzled marshal. Cobb gives them all a look that says _it’s alright, go back to your drinks_ and their little audience slowly dissipates. The whole time, Din kept his hand on Cobb’s leg, still rubbing those little, teasing circles into Cobb’s knee. Cobb runs a hand through his hair and pushes it back, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “No, yes— wait, no?” Cobb takes another breath. “Let me start over.”

Din chuckles to himself and raises his hand just a few inches higher on Cobb’s leg, amused by his inability to articulate himself in that moment. He’s so warm here, Din can feel it through the barrier of Cobb’s trousers and his own glove. “It’s okay, Marshal. Take your time.”

“What I meant to say was that… I’m interested in slow. If that’s what you want, Mando,” Cobb replies more evenly and hushed than before. “Just promise me I’ll have you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have you begging for it by the end of the night.” Din slows the circles he rubs into Cobb’s thigh, making the other man squirm and shift uncomfortably in an attempt to chase the friction Din was giving him. “Just be patient.”

Cobb nods bashfully and takes a long pull of spotchka from his cup. He _had_ to be coursing through with the alcohol by now, and Din wonders how buzzed Cobb was. He wanted to make sure Cobb would still have control over himself and be able to keep his head up and say _yes_ and _no_ and _I want this, please_ by the time they got back to the Crest. Cobb is still reacting nicely to his little, intimate touches on his thigh and responding to questions about the town, trade with the Tuskens, and other idle town happenings with very little slurring. The only times Din noticed Cobb stumble over his words was when he inched his hands up higher, which always got a nice little _ah_ out of Cobb, sometimes with a lip bite. 

It’s as if Cobb doesn’t even know how tempting he is tonight.

They’re in the middle of talking about one of Din’s more recent missions, the spotchka long forgotten (Din had stopped him a while back, somewhere between them talking about how Din got his full beskar armor and the new family of banthas the town had). Din’s hand is so close to Cobb’s groin that he could feel Cobb’s half-hard cock against it, when Cobb grabs Din’s wrist and stops him. Din looks at him quizzically.

“If you keep going, I’ll come right here,” Cobb whispers, his breathing labored and heavy. His grey hair is falling into his eyes and his pupils are blown black. He glances over at Din, pleading with him to take him out of this cantina and back to wherever. And Din can’t say no— the desire’s been building in his own body all night, particularly the lower half, and he’s feeling restless and turned on himself. Cobb slowly releases Din’s wrist as Din retracts his hand from the warmth of Cobb’s inner thigh. 

“Then why don’t we head out of here, go back to my ship?” Din asks with a low, matter-of-fact tone. He sneaks a glance at Cobb’s lap and finds the other man’s pants just _slightly_ tented. He smiles to himself. 

“Why don’t we go back to my home? I have a bed, and—”

“My rules, my ship, Marshal.” He says it with a steely glare, trying to assert more dominance over Cobb. His bed is small, no doubt, and will certainly be a difficult fit for two grown men, but Din wants to take Cobb in a place where he feels more secure. He trusts Cobb, but he doesn’t want to remove his armor in a place he’s never been before. “If you want the armor off, then my ship.”

Cobb raises his eyebrows and gives Din a _why not?_ shrug. “Lead the way?” Din gives him a nod and Cobb takes it as his cue to get out of his chair. Din takes one last moment while seated to admire Cobb’s ass, especially when Cobb pulls up his pants just a little to make them fit better. Cobb looks back at him and nods his head towards the door. He’s so eager it’s almost cute. Reminds him of that little rookie he nearly fucked the first time he came to Tatooine. Din follows suit and allows his hand to take up residence again on Cobb’s waist. He teases, letting his fingers drift lower than before as he walks a very flustered, half-hard Cobb out of the cantina. Cobb’s breathing heavily, trying not to let his eyes fall on any patron in particular, and his hands are clasped in front of his crotch in an obvious attempt to hide his erection from the unsuspecting townspeople. 

Din feels an undeniable rush of arousal go through him when he notices the cantina patrons taking sly glances at him and Cobb leaving the building. Cobb can definitely feel them, too; Din feels Cobb straighten his back up and square his shoulders back farther. When they finally cross the threshold, Din decides to be a little bold; he may have wanted to tease Cobb before, but he didn’t want to completely embarrass him, either. He smooths his hands over Cobb’s ass, passing over the low-slung belt, and then takes as much as he can in one, rough hand and squeezes it hard. Cobb brokenly moans and then bites his lip.

“Kriff, Mando… you’re handsy tonight, aren’t you?” Cobb playfully gives Din a nudge in his side. “Not that I’m complaining, I like it when guys get a little rough. Just didn’t take you to be the type to be so open and bold about it.”

“You talk a lot.” Mando says it simply, without much fanfare. “But can that mouth of yours do anything else?” They’re close to the Crest, just a few more yards and then Din can do and say whatever he wants to Cobb. 

“Well… that depends on what _you_ want it to do.” 

Din stops and looks at him with complete and utter shock. He’s a little taken aback, but in a good way. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a jolt of arousal go right to his dick at Cobb’s flirtatious comment. He’s actually pretty impressed with how tight he’s got Cobb wrapped around his finger. Cobb is _so_ willing to do whatever he says, and that last statement he made is proof enough. He gives Cobb a once-over, sizing him up, and when their eyes meet again, Cobb winks at him. 

“You just might be the death of me.” Din huffs in amusement and tears his hand away from Cobb just so he can open the door to the ship. The gangway comes down and Din directs Cobb to walk up it first.

Din holds back, staying outside the ship with both hands resting on his belt, his head cocked in interest, and his eyes following Cobb’s ass and thighs as he walks. Cobb must have felt Din’s eyes on him because he turns around once he passes the threshold. “You really like my ass, don’t you?” 

It’s true. Din has spent an unhealthy amount of time the last few months (and tonight for sure) thinking about Cobb’s ass. The way it’ll feel in his hands. The way it’ll look when his tight pants are pulled down. The way it looks when he walks away or bends down. 

“Why don’t you just keep on walking so I can appreciate it better?” Cobb just rolls his eyes and smiles. He follows Din’s order to keep walking, though, and Din gets to have a few more seconds of watching Cobb before he disappears inside the ship. Din follows suit and finds Cobb leaning against the tiny bunk and taking off his gloves with a smug look on his face. Din tries not to make a show out of pressing the button that closes the door to the Crest, but with the tension simmering between them right now, it’s hard to deny that it looks that way. 

Once the door is shut, Din finds it hard to stay so many feet apart from Cobb. It only takes a few steps until Din’s body collides with Cobb’s and they’re back to their reunion in the cantina from just a couple hours ago. Cobb’s entirely in Din’s space; his arms nervously snake up around Din’s shoulders, and one cradles the back of Din’s helmet. Cobb’s as close as he can get to Din’s body with the beskar. Cobb has his forehead pressed against Din’s, his chest is heaving since he’s breathing so hard. Din wants to take off his armor so that he can feel how hard Cobb is against him. Din feels the heat of arousal, years of it, swelling in his entire body; Cobb’s so close he can practically taste him. 

“This is how Mandalorians kiss, you know,” Din says as he pulls up Cobb’s shirt. He doesn’t want to separate to unbutton it just yet, he just wants to feel Cobb’s skin. Just wanted to let you know.” He skims his gloved fingers up Cobb’s bare skin and feels him gasp before he hears it. Cobb is putty in his hands. He hasn’t even touched his dick yet and he’s acting like it’s his first time.

“I like the way it feels.” Cobb holds onto Din just a little tighter. “Wish I could kiss you for real, though. Which reminds me… how do we do this?”

Din takes the opportunity to separate from Cobb and start undressing him. “Well, Code says you can’t see my face. So there’s a couple ways we can do this.” He unbuckles Cobb’s belt and lets it drop to the floor. 

“Tell me.” 

He unbuttons Cobb’s shirt, slowly, relishing the way Cobb winces when his gloves touch his bare skin. Cobb keeps his eyes down, watching Din’s fingers move nimbly with great interest and concentration. 

“The first is that I keep my armor and helmet on while you get naked.” He pushes the shirt off Cobb’s shoulders and tosses it away unceremoniously. Din holds in the breath he wants to exhale when he sees Cobb shirtless (save for the red scarf tied around his neck, but that’s coming off next) for the first time. He’s lean, toned in the right places. If he wore beskar’gam of his own, his body would have been shown off _much_ better. How could all of this have been hidden? Din feels his own cock stirring with interest when he notices the small trail of hair disappearing into Cobb’s pants, where his bulge is doing a poor job of being hidden right now. 

“The second?” Cobb’s voice is strained, like he’s trying not to whine.

Din smiles darkly beneath his helmet. He holds Cobb’s shoulders in place as he walks behind him, standing out of view. He sets to work on untying the red scarf around Cobb’s neck. All words and breaths stick in Cobb’s throat when he realizes what exactly Din is about to say and do. “The second is you get blindfolded, and then we can both be naked.” He pulls the scarf slowly, _slowly,_ off Cobb’s neck, letting the fabric whisper across his bare skin and draw a small moan from Cobb’s mouth. With a rough, sultry voice, he asks, “What would _you_ like, Marshal?” while massaging Cobb’s hips in his hands and pressing his own erection against Cobb’s ass.

“Second. Second one.” Cobb’s breathless. “When I’m blindfolded, are you gonna— can you kiss me?” Din’s mouth waters at the thought.

“Yeah, yeah I can.” Din turns Cobb around to face him again, and he can’t stop himself from letting his fingers trail down Cobb’s chest, all the way to the waistband of his pants. “So... what do you wanna do first?”


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finally fulfills on that promise he made Cobb months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE! This definitely took longer to update than I wanted to, but better late than never. Thank you to all my friends for being so patient, and I hope you all enjoy! Beta’d as always by BatmanWhoLaughss.
> 
> ~Hunter

Cobb looks back at Din with a wild, excited look in his eyes, clearly brimming with excitement at all of the possible options. Din pulls Cobb with him towards his tiny bunk and sits on the edge, leaving Cobb still standing between his legs. He makes sure to keep the red scarf handy. 

“I wanna go down on you, Mando.” Cobb grins like a loth-cat, clearly pleased with his response. He’s on his knees in an instant, and then _there’s_ a pretty sight: Cobb on his knees with his eyes focused on Din’s T-visor. “I wanna taste your cock, been thinkin’ about it since that night in the Tusken camp.” Din doesn’t stop Cobb when he unbuckles his belt. He’s been thinking about this, too: about how Cobb’s perfect lips will feel wrapped around the head of his cock, about how his hot, wet mouth will feel so much better than his own hand. Cobb flicks his eyes up to make eye contact with Din and licks his lips; Din responds by running a hand through Cobb’s salt-and-pepper hair and then pulling. The moan Cobb makes when Din tugs indicates that he is _very_ much into that particular move. 

“Can’t wait to get you out of these.” Cobb moans. He’s singularly focused on unzipping Din’s pants, getting his cock out of the confines of his basics. Din’s heart races in anticipation when he feels Cobb’s calloused hand reach inside his basics, take hold of his erection, and finally expose it to the cool air of the Crest. The foreign touch takes him out of his body for a moment; he hasn’t let anyone touch him like this in ages. Years, maybe. Cobb whistles in appreciation and looks up at Din with an impressed look on his face. 

“Stars, you think I’ll be able to fit this in my mouth?” Cobb teases with a wink. Din grips the sheets in one, tight fist, awaiting the sensation of Cobb’s mouth on him. Cobb experimentally strokes his cock a few times, licks his lips again. Din stifles a groan at the sensation of Cobb’s calloused hand on him and feels his cock grow harder. 

“Come on, put that pretty little mouth of yours to work,” Din orders him. Cobb smirks again and chuckles to himself. While looking up at Din, Cobb parts his lips and leans closer to Din’s cock. When he licks the head, Din throws his head back at the contact. Cobb licks him again, this time letting his tongue linger on the tip for a second longer. And right when he’s least expecting it, Cobb licks the underside of his cock from root to tip. It makes Din groan, and then exhale in pleasure when Cobb wraps his lips around him and firmly sucks. And when Cobb teases the underside of the head with the tip of his tongue, he has to fight the whine in the back of his throat. 

Din can’t remember the last time someone went down on him. He lets himself enjoy this, allows Cobb to suck him off slowly and tease _him_ a little. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t make much noise—he never does when he’s in bed—but he does enjoy this. Din’s thankful for his helmet so Cobb can’t see just how much he is. As Cobb sucks on his cock, he feels it swell and throb with need. He feels the arousal pool in his groin and the muscles in his abdomen flex. Despite the temptation to let his hips buck and make Cobb choke, he holds them down.

Din looks back down at Cobb and admires the way his pink, spit-slick lips are stretched around his cock. Cobb must feel Din’s eyes watching him because he looks up at him and (purposefully, Din thinks) sucks him harder, and, for good measure, runs his tongue over the vein on the underside of his dick. “You look so sexy like this, Marshal. Bet this is the only way anyone can ever get you to stop talking.” Din pants, the helmet’s vocoder magnifying its volume. He’s sure that without the cock in his mouth, Cobb would have smirked. With the hand he has tight in Cobb’s hair, he forces his head all the way down so that his cock hits the back of Cobb’s throat. Cobb moans at how forceful Din is; it makes Din’s thighs and abdomen flex in a desperate attempt to hold back his orgasm. He holds Cobb’s head there between his thighs and just relishes in the feeling of Cobb’s hot, wet mouth on him while Cobb gently sucks. 

“Kriff, baby, you feel so good with your mouth on my cock.” The _baby_ slips out without Din knowing and even though it takes him aback at first—he really doesn’t give partners nicknames, or, at least, he’s never been with someone _deserving_ of a nickname—he finds that he doesn’t mind. Cobb responds with a moan that makes Din shudder and grip Cobb’s hair tighter. “You… you don’t know how much I wanna,” Din has to take a deep breath when Cobb uses his tongue to tease a vein again—he _really_ likes it when Cobb does that—and find his bearings, _“kriff,_ I wanna come in your mouth right now.” Cobb whines, and the vibrations around Din’s cock make him brokenly moan. 

“What? Can’t keep it together when a guy’s goin’ down on you?” Cobb teases when he pulls away for a moment to breathe. His lips are slick with spit and precome. Din doesn’t remember loosening his grip on Cobb’s hair and letting his hand fall away. But Cobb winks at him while he’s licking the head and Din finds he doesn’t particularly care. 

“Keep going.” Din’s too far gone to reply with something witty or casually dominant. But Cobb’s lips are around him again in a matter of seconds, and so is his hand to stroke whatever isn’t in his mouth. The rhythm of Cobb’s hand and mouth moving in tandem with each other, with the added sight of Cobb’s eyes shut in utter bliss, is a lot to take in. Din feels too hot under his beskar, feels the sweat beading on his forehead and neck. He swears under his breath, so quiet the vocoder doesn’t pick it up, and feels his breath catch in his throat when Cobb uses just a hint of teeth when he pulls up. 

_“Dank farrik._ Easy with… with your teeth.” Din feels his cock hit the back of Cobb’s mouth again and he instinctively bucks his hips up into Cobb’s mouth when he shudders. “M-Marshal—” Din starts to apologize, but then Cobb gags, he actually _gags,_ and the wet noise and choking sound he makes are impossibly sexy. The feeling of it, too, is _kriffing great._ Din’s boots scrabble against the floor of the Crest as he tries to hold his hips back again; he holds tightly onto Cobb’s hair in one hand and the thin bedsheet in the other. He’s breathing as hard as Cobb now. 

The arousal becomes too much to hold back and he pulls Cobb off of his cock before the need to come becomes overpowering. And as much as Din wants to come in Cobb’s mouth—and he really does, he’s gotten off to the thought before, and can see Cobb trying to swallow down his come clearly in his mind’s eye—he also _really_ wants to fuck him. He and Cobb share a few moments of eye contact, panting and chests heaving for air. There’s a look of wild excitement in Cobb’s eyes, and he looks quite pleased with himself, too. Din’s cock still throbs, hot and hard, in Cobb’s hand. 

“That was fun,” Cobb finally says, wiping the spit and precome off his lips and chin. “But I’m thinkin’ I want that blindfold now.”

An image of Cobb arching his back, crying out in pleasure, and digging his nails into the meat of Din’s shoulders while wearing that bright red scarf fills Din’s mind. He traces Cobb’s lower lip with his gloved thumb and pulls down on his lower lip to teasingly open up his mouth. He decides to test out the pet name again, this time to see how Cobb will respond _without_ a dick in his mouth. “Well since… since you asked so nicely, baby.” 

Cobb’s eyes light up. “I like that, you know. You calling me _baby,”_ Cobb says while Din blindfolds him. He’s still kneeling, too, which is a sight Din didn’t think would be such a turn-on. His hands rest submissively in his lap, palms up. His lips are parted, his head tilted back just so. He breathes slowly, like he’s trying to stay calm. Din takes his time placing the blindfold over Cobb’s eyes, asks him if he can see out of it ( _no, I can’t_ ), if he’s alright _(more than alright, Mando_ ), and if he wants a word in case they need to stop ( _Krayt,_ Cobb snickers). 

It’s a slow, careful process as Din helps Cobb off the ground and into the bed. He finally lays Cobb down, flat on his back, after a few moments of maneuvering. And even though Cobb’s still got half his clothes on, the blindfold makes him look vulnerable and enticing. “You don’t even know how kriffing _hot_ you look right now with that blindfold,” Din remarks as he removes his beskar. Cobb blushes and smiles at that. The redness travels down his neck to his chest. 

(It’s not lost on Din that every time he removes a piece of armor and sets it on the ground, Cobb jumps. Cobb’s already squirming on the bed in anticipation, his erection more than visible through his pants. The anticipation must be killing the poor Marshal.)

“I bet you ain’t too bad-lookin’ yourself, Mando.”

“Don’t get any ideas about peeking,” Din warns Cobb as he finally takes off his helmet. His own heart races nervously, it always does when he takes off his helmet with a partner in the room. He trusts Cobb, though. Cobb still has his hands on the bed, twisting the bedsheets expectantly. Din peels off his flight suit, boots, and basics as fast as possible to join Cobb on the bunk. 

“Took you long enough.” Cobb’s laying against the pillow with his hands behind his head and legs splayed as far as he can without kneeing the wall. It’s a heady sight to see him reclining on the bed like this, but he knows he has to remind Cobb who’s _really_ in charge here. 

“Shut up, I’m trying to get you naked.” He unlaces Cobb’s boots and drops them to the floor unceremoniously, letting them hit the floor with a dull _thud_. “What did I say about being patient, Marshal?” The unspoken threat of what Din could possibly do or say to drag the foreplay out even longer makes Cobb go silent and shiver. 

With nimble fingers, Din unfastens Cobb’s pants, pulling the zipper down slowly over his sensitive erection. Cobb whines and tries to stay still. He pulls the pants down Cobb’s long, lanky legs even slower; they go on for ages. Or at least that’s what it feels like when Cobb’s muscular thighs and nicely-sculpted calves come into sight. Din feels ravenous; he wants to grope and squeeze and touch and bite all at once. Especially after the nice attention Cobb gave his cock only minutes ago, Din’s feeling particularly restless and turned on. 

“Stars, you’re pretty. Bet everyone who sees you wants some of this.” When he palms Cobb’s erection over his basics, Cobb brokenly moans and arches his back. Din chuckles to himself as he turns his attention towards Cobb’s thighs, lightly dusted with fair hair, lighter than the trail of hair leading from Cobb’s belly button down into his basics. “Can’t believe you were hiding all this under that armor.” Din finally climbs into the bunk and straddles Cobb’s thighs, who gasps at the feeling of Din’s weight pressing him down into the mattress. They’re both immediately made aware of how tight of a fit the bunk is, but it somehow feels more intimate, like the air is forcing them to get closer together. 

From this angle, it’s easier to see Cobb’s blindfolded face. His parted lips, the quivering lower lip. The nervous bobbing of the swell in his throat when he swallows. The goosebumps sprouting all over his chest and shoulders, likely from the excitement and the blindfold that makes him unable to anticipate Din’s next move. 

Din focuses on Cobb’s face as he skims his hand up Cobb’s chest; Cobb visibly fights a moan and flinches—in a good way, Din assumes, because he doesn’t stop him—as Din’s fingertips whisper up his chest to his right nipple. Din stimulates it, rolling it between his middle finger and thumb; he dips his head and directs his attention to his other nipple, taking it in his teeth. Cobb yelps and jumps at the wet, sharp feeling of Din’s teeth in such a sensitive area. With the way Cobb’s reacting, Din wonders to himself if Cobb has ever played with his nipples, or had a partner do so before. 

“Do you like that, Marshal? Do you like being held down and teased until you can’t take it anymore?” Din punctuates the question with a hard squeeze of Cobb’s nipple, which makes Cobb cry out in a heady mix of pain and pleasure. To see Cobb reacting like this, his resolve and barriers crumbling, makes Din’s cock stir in even more interest. He can only imagine what Cobb will look and sound like when he gets fucked.

“Yes! Yes, _yes_ , I like it, Mando, I like it.” Cobb holds down the hand Din has palming roughly over his cock to keep the much-needed friction there. “I’d like it even more if you fucked me already, though.” Even Din has to admit: he’d like this a lot more if he was buried deep inside Cobb’s ass already, too. 

Din doesn’t say anything, just pulls down Cobb’s basics in a few rough movements. Cobb gasps again when he feels the jostling and the slide of them down his thighs. Din feels Cobb’s dick pop out of the basics and it hits his stomach; he can’t wait to get his hands on it. When the basics are finally off, Din repositions them so that he’s sitting at Cobb’s side; the bunk is still an impossibly tight fit, especially now that Din’s not sitting on top of Cobb. But with the new position, Din can touch the warm, sensitive inside of Cobb’s inner thighs, much like he had at the cantina. Din can fully appreciate Cobb’s body, too: his muscular thighs, his long, hard cock curving up against his abdomen. Cobb whines as Din’s hand nears his ass. 

“D-don’t t-tease.” Cobb can barely manage the words when Din circles the rim of Cobb’s hole with his middle finger. Din doesn’t have the lube on his fingers yet, doesn’t even apply enough pressure to push his finger in. He’s just teasing, making it tantalizing. Cobb is breathing heavily, tilting his head back into the pillow, baring his throat. 

“But you told me you liked it.” Din reaches between the wall of the bunk and the mattress for the bottle of lube he has hidden there. He pulls his hand out from between Cobb's legs abruptly to pour lube on his fingers, which pulls a groan from Cobb’s lips. “Make up your mind, baby.”

Cobb responds with a whimper. A _whimper._ “You’ve got me dyin’ here, please, _please_ touch me.” Din smiles and presses his slick fingers against Cobb’s hole again and, hearing no protestations—only a very sexy, _very_ arousing little series of _ah-ahs_ —slides two fingers inside of Cobb’s hole. “Oh my _sta—_ ” Cobb begins, but then he moans and cants his hips up, searching for _something_ to grind up against. Din slowly pumps two fingers in and out of Cobb, making sure to pull his fingers out slowly and push them back in sharply. It punches a moan out of Cobb each time. Din leans down, resting his weight on his elbow so that his lips hover over Cobb’s. Cobb must feel the hot breaths on his face because he lifts his head up slightly to kiss Din. He smells the sharpness of the spotchka on Cobb’s breath; he’s thirsting to taste it on his tongue. Their foreheads are pressed against each other, too, and they’re breathing in each other’s air. 

It’s not that Din hesitates when he leans in to kiss Cobb. It’s that he hasn’t kissed someone in so long, and doesn’t want his first kiss with Cobb to get kriffed up. But their lips are so close that the kiss is inevitable. At first, their lips brush each other gently, and he feels Cobb smile. Cobb wants this; he's just waiting to be kissed. And so Din finally presses their lips together, not wanting to keep Cobb waiting any longer. _I can’t believe I forgot how good this feels,_ Din thinks to himself as he kisses Cobb, slowly moving his fingers in and out of him. Cobb’s stubble and moustache tickle his lips, but Din doesn’t mind. His lips tingle from not having kissed someone in so long, but it’s a nice sensation. Their tongues touch and Din tastes the spotchka Cobb drank earlier this evening. He wants to get drunk on him. Their mouths move against each other passionately, full of heat and need and desperation. Din finds that he pours more and more of himself into the kiss the longer their mouths are connected. It’s been _ages_ since he kissed someone, and certainly someone with such a pretty mouth like Cobb. And Cobb is so warm around his fingers, so tight; he scissors his fingers just slightly and Cobb moans, breaking the kiss to gasp for much-needed air. He flutters his fingers gently, just to tease and stretch him further. Cobb strains and arches his back as Din opens him up. 

“A-another.” Cobb pants and reaches up to grab Din’s hair and ground himself to the bed. Din swears under his breath at the sharp pull of his hair. “I want you to fuck me so…” Cobb exhales deeply as Din pulls his fingers out of him entirely, “ _so_ bad.” Cobb’s chest heaves against his as he anticipates the entry of the third finger. Din can only imagine how intense everything must feel for Cobb right about now since the blindfold makes it near-impossible for Cobb to gauge what’s going on. 

Din locks their lips together again, this time slipping his tongue into Cobb’s hot, waiting mouth. Cobb is pliant when Din kisses him, lying back and responding to the open-mouthed, wet kisses like a man starved. Cobb’s hand moves from his hair to Din’s shoulder, holding him tight; when Din finally pushes all three of his fingers into him, Cobb cries out and digs his nails into Din’s shoulder blades. Din hisses through his teeth at the sharp, sudden pain, but the way Cobb grinds down on his fingers and bucks his hips is worth it. The way Cobb can barely hang onto Din’s shoulders and rakes his nails down Din’s back in pleasure when Din brushes his prostate is worth it, too. _This_ is what he wanted: Cobb writhing in his bed and so needy he could barely talk. 

Din continues the steady, even pace of his fingers, wanting to bring Cobb to the edge before finally flipping him over onto his stomach and taking him. “How are you?” Din asks as he spreads his fingers inside of Cobb. 

“Fine, just—just fine, Mando,” Cobb stammers, spreading his legs and bending his knees. “‘m not f-fragile.”

“You think you’re ready to take me?”

“Think so… f- _fuck,_ I just want your cock in me,” Cobb replies. And that’s all Din needs in terms of direction. He slowly pulls out his fingers while kissing Cobb, catching each of his moans and whimpers in his mouth. He slowly maneuvers Cobb onto his stomach, being careful so as to not startle or jostle him. Cobb doesn’t resist; in fact, once he’s settled on his stomach with his face resting against the pillow and his arms folded across it, too, Din swears that Cobb relaxes even more. He looks content here, like it’s natural for him. 

(Din has to climb out of the bunk momentarily to grab a condom, a grievous oversight on his part earlier when trying to plan tonight. He’s back on the bed, kneeling behind Cobb between his spread legs in record time.)

And then there’s Cobb’s ass. The dim light doesn’t illuminate it well, but it’s still undeniably firm-looking. Since he’s sitting on his haunches and laying face-down, the ass-up position gives Din easier access to his favorite part of Cobb’s body. Din takes a cheek in each hand and squeezes them hard, appreciating the give of flesh and Cobb’s groans. “Been waiting _months_ for this, Marshal.” Din lets go of Cobb’s ass and tears open the condom packet, rolls the condom onto his erection with ease. “I’ve wanted your ass since the moment I saw you.” Din pours more lube onto his hand and strokes himself a few times to make himself slick. Din teases just a little, pulling his cheeks apart slightly to expose his hole; _that_ earns him a nice little whimper of pleasure from Cobb.

“Me too. Stars, just—just know that you don’t hafta be gentle with me,” Cobb says, looking behind his shoulder as Din lines his cock up with Cobb’s ass. Cobb shifts slightly as he waits for the intrusion, his back muscles flex, and his ribs rise and expand slowly as he breathes.

“So you want it rough, then?” Din squeezes Cobb’s hip gently in one hand as he presses the head of his cock against Cobb’s hole. “Do you want to be held down, baby?” Din is hit with the image of Cobb’s wrists straining against his grip and Cobb’s back arching into his chest as he comes and even he has to admit: it’s an irresistible thought. Cobb replies with a breathy little _uh-huh_ that is more of an exhale than a response. And then finally, Din slides into Cobb and into the feeling of his hot, tight walls around his dick. He’s not even all the way in but the sensation is overwhelming and titillating compared to that of his own hand. Cobb keens below him, lets out a broken moan and begins to pant heavily. To make matters more frustrating, Cobb is _also_ pushing his hips back onto Din’s cock to feel more of him—it’s taking all of his willpower to not just bottom out in Cobb and take his hips in both hands. 

But after a few moments, a couple breathy, high-pitched gasps from Cobb, and a loud moan from Din that rattles the thin metal walls of the bunk, Din is finally bottomed out in Cobb. He steadies himself for a second, taking the time to place his hands securely on Cobb’s hips and keep himself fully sheathed in him. Din becomes more aware of everything in his line of sight and happening to his person. He feels the sweat matting his hair to his forehead, smells the sex in the enclosed little bunk, sees the oddly tantalizing way Cobb’s long, slim fingers grip the pillow beneath his head. In this moment, even the knot on the blindfold is erotic—he’s reminded that Cobb is entirely at his mercy tonight. 

Din moves Cobb’s hips gingerly, just to test the waters, but Cobb is hungrier for more it seems. Cobb meets each thrust with his own hips, a little forcefully, even. So Din picks up his pace, keeping his bruising hold on Cobb’s waist as he slams his hips against Cobb’s ass on every snap of his hips. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is wholly erotic in and of itself; the sight of Cobb’s ass jiggling on every thrust is also _extremely_ sexy, Din quickly finds out. Din is thankful that the Crest is a ways away from the town; he’s never known the walls to be betraying before, but then again, Cobb is not a typical partner. He’s incredibly vocal when he’s getting fucked. Every thrust elicits a breathy moan or a gasp of pleasure or a string of _need it harder, feels so good, kriff, stars, more, Mando_ from Cobb’s lips. 

“I’ve never been f-fucked _ssso_ good,” Cobb manages out in praise when Din starts thrusting even deeper inside of Cobb. He’d opted for shallower, quicker thrusts before, but now Din _really_ wants to see Cobb come apart. He switches to deeper, rougher, slower thrusts where he pulls out almost entirely only to bottom out completely again. It makes Cobb grip the bed sheets tight in his hands, cry out in pleasure, and bury his face into the pillow. If Din didn’t know any better, he’d assume that Cobb would be crying, judging by the pathetic little whimpers and sniffles Din hears as he keeps up his pace. 

And when Din grips the flesh of Cobb’s upper thighs to spread his legs just a bit wider and reach a slightly different angle, the air gets punched out of Cobb’s lungs. _“Faster.”_ Din doesn’t have to be told twice. He increases the rapid motion of his hips, ignoring the burn in his thighs and calves in favor of driving further and harder into Cobb. Din manages to keep any betraying moans or gasps buried in his throat, but when Cobb squeezes his walls around Din’s dick, tightening the already snug fit, Din can’t hold back the shuddering groan. He digs his nails into Cobb’s flesh, trying to ignore the heat in his belly and the slowly-increasing need to come. He keeps going, not about to let Cobb’s little teasing tricks hold him back from fucking Cobb good and fast and hard. _The way he deserves to be fucked,_ Din muses to himself. 

“Gonna come, Mando.” Cobb shifts restlessly below Din, clearly trying to get comfortable in case Din says to wait. And Din has half a mind to edge Cobb, to do this until the suns come up and Cobb is barely able to keep his head up he’s so tired and desperate, but that wasn’t on the table tonight. _Next time. Next time, Din Djarin,_ Din’s subconscious supplies. But he doesn’t respond to Cobb’s statement. He wants Cobb to start begging again, begging in that distinct little drawl of his. All Din offers is a grunt in reply as he leans over Cobb the best he can to pin down Cobb’s wrists with one of his hands. “Won’t even let me touch myself?” Cobb pants as the new angle is introduced and Din crowds him into the mattress. 

“You come when I say you can.” Din grunts, his voice dominant and aggressive despite his gritted teeth. Their bodies are hot and sweaty against each other in this new position. They’re closer than before, their bodies completely pressed against each other and connected. The feeling of Cobb’s muscled, scarred-over skin rubs nicely against Din’s chest—one thing that Din’s always loved about having male partners is how strong and muscular they were, how prone their skin was to blasterfire scars and cuts—and it feels even more intimate. The coil of arousal tightens in the pit of Din’s stomach and his hips are starting to flag in their fast, hard pace. 

Pressed against the lean muscles of Cobb’s back, gripping his hips sometimes and thighs the other, Din can reach Cobb’s mouth to kiss him. The blindfold, thankfully, is still securely tied behind Cobb’s eyes; the bright red of the cloth matches the bright red blooming on his cheeks and shoulders. Din tilts his head to capture Cobb’s lips in a messier kiss than before, their teeth clacking and mouths missing the mark exactly. But it’s rough, dirty—it matches the way their bodies move against each other. Cobb’s moustache and stubble burn against his cheek as they move their mouths together in the desperate kiss. 

It makes Din restless. He wants to come, and feels it quickening in his groin. He moves his hand from where it’s gripping the muscles in Cobb’s (muscular, meaty, well-formed) thigh to his hard cock to stroke him off in a rhythm he hopes matches the movements of his hips. They’re both swearing under their breath, gasping and panting for air, feeling the heat of the enclosed space and the sweat on their bodies, tasting each other’s spit. Din honestly can’t remember the last time he just… let go and enjoyed himself like this. It’s hard to deny the fact that Cobb’s body is so warm and responsive to everything he says and does. 

“You look so hot beneath me.” It’s all Din can manage to say. He wants to say more, compliment Cobb and dirty talk to him, but he can’t find the words. He’s so far gone that _you look so hot beneath me_ is all his pleasure-addled brain can supply. “Gonna come.”

“‘m I allowed to come, too?” Cobb flexes his wrists against the grip of Din’s hand. “Please. Let me come.” Cobb’s drawl is even sexier like this when he’s all wrung out, metaphorically speaking, and drunk on pleasure. 

“When I come,” Din grits through his teeth as he tightens his grasp on Cobb’s dick—which is hard and hot and throbbing with need in his fist, not to mention leaking a stream of precome all over his fingers and the sheets—and makes Cobb let out a little _ah!_ in reply, “then you can. You’ve been so, _kriff,_ so good tonight.” Din feels the coil of pleasure tighten in his belly. “And— _ngh_ —I like hearing you beg.” 

“You’ve had me, _ah,_ on edge all kriffin’ night,” Cobb whines, his breath hot against Din’s face. “I know you wanna come, _kriff,_ just do it.” 

Cobb’s right. So Din braces himself, holding tighter onto Cobb’s wrists— _if they bruise or get all red, that’ll be a pretty sight,_ Din’s subconscious nags—and latching his mouth onto Cobb’s shoulder. And then it hits Din all at once, like a speeder crashing or a star dying. He doesn’t even realize that his teeth are buried in the muscle of Cobb’s shoulder. He shudders and his hips buck errantly. The hazy, jelly limbs feeling of a _really_ good orgasm fills his body and leaves him feeling warm, content. If tonight did anything, it reminded Din of how lackluster his hand felt in comparison to a good fuck. 

Cobb follows him a few moments later, crying out so loud Din’s sure that any unsuspecting townsperson in the surrounding area just heard what their Marshal sounds like when he comes. _If they didn’t know already,_ Din thinks to himself as Cobb spills all over his hand, hot and sticky, and jerks shakily against Din’s body. Din thinks he’s managed to get most of it in his hand, but he can’t be too sure. His walls tighten around Din’s cock, too, like his body is trying to drain him of his pleasure. If Cobb babbles something in his orgasm-induced haze, Din can’t hear him. He lets go of Cobb’s wrists, shoulder, and cock and hears Cobb let out a sigh of relief. Din gingerly pulls out of Cobb, not wanting to hurt him or jostle him too much, and Cobb unfolds his legs to lay flat on the bed. Din has to sorrowfully leave the bunk to dispose of the condom and get a cloth to clean Cobb up, which means he has to tear himself away from the warmth of Cobb’s body. 

“Be back in a second.” Cobb responds with a weak _uh-huh_ as he turns onto his back slowly, his limbs still heavy with pleasure. Din tosses the condom in the wastebin and grabs a cloth to clean himself off with. He hisses as the too-rough cloth passes over his still-sensitive skin. He grabs another for Cobb, taking care to make sure the cloth is drenched with warm water, before wringing it out and returning to the bunk. He grabs his helmet for good measure, too, just in case Cobb wants to remove his blindfold. 

He finds a welcome sight lounging in his bed. Cobb, on his back, _still_ blindfolded after all this, and breathing heavily. His stomach has come spattered all over it and his head is resting just so against the pillow. Din smirks; it’s a job well done, in his book, to have fucked Cobb—who’s usually so chatty and upbeat—so hard he’s left speechless and exhausted. “Gonna take care of you now, Marshal.” Cobb nods in consent. Din carefully cleans the come and lube off Cobb’s stomach and thighs, being as gentle as he can to counter the toughness of his hands and hips moments before. Cobb winces and flinches when Din wipes off his inner thighs, but at least now he’s clean. 

Din settles next to Cobb on the bed. He clears his throat to get Cobb’s attention. “How… how are you?” 

“I think you broke my brain, Mando.” Cobb chuckles and cuddles up to Din’s chest, resting his head on Din’s shoulder. “Might be hard to walk or ride tomorrow.” Din steals a glance at the crescent moon marks that mar Cobb’s upper thighs and hips. “That bite on my shoulder hurts like a bitch, but it’s gonna be a helluva reminder of tonight.”

 _Thank the stars he liked that,_ Din muses. “But you’re not hurt badly, right? And the blindfold was fine?”

“Stars, no.” Cobb wraps an arm around Din’s waist and pulls him closer. “I’ve been thinkin’ about you wrecking me since I saw you speed off.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “And the blindfold thing _really_ did it for me tonight. Didn’t expect it to be so hot.”

Din scoffs. “You’re just flattering me, Marshal.”

“Cobb. Call me Cobb.” It’s the most direct Cobb’s been all night, but there’s a sincerity in his tone. “I think after tonight, you can call me Cobb.” The correction touches Din’s heart; but if it’s the genuine intimacy of knowing he can say Cobb’s name pulling on his heartstrings or the post-orgasm high making his mind all fuzzy, he’s not sure. “And for the record…” Cobb rubs little circles into Din’s side and kisses his shoulder, “I loved tonight. I don’t think I’ve had anyone so…”

“Aggressive? Controlling?” Din offers. Cobb chuckles at that, too. 

“Dominant,” Cobb drawls, his voice low and suggestive. “I loved it. Believe me.”

Din blushes, thankful for Cobb’s blindfold. He’d be mortified if Cobb could see him blushing right now. “I did too, Cobb.” Tentatively—though why he hesitates on this, after every dirty thing they did tonight—he presses a kiss to Cobb’s forehead. Cobb sighs at the intimacy of the gentle kiss. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

“Stars, you don’t even have to ask.” Cobb feels around awkwardly for Din’s cheek, landing on his shoulder and neck before settling on Din’s face and pulling him in for the most tender kiss Din’s had in his entire life. Din kisses him back, pouring out his whole heart; before, with other partners, this part’s always been the hardest. The post-sex routine, post-climax pillow talk. But with Cobb, it feels more natural. Like he could get used to it. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go tomorrow.” Cobb says mournfully when he pulls away for air. He presses their foreheads together and clings to the back of Din’s head like he’s going to float away if he lets go. 

“Who said I was going tomorrow?” Mando says, tracing Cobb’s spine with his fingertips. “I can stay for a few days. The kid’s safe.”

“You mean it?” Cobb asks, his voice light, hopeful. 

“I mean it.” Din kisses Cobb again, this time more confident. More committed. He feels Cobb smile into the kiss. 

“You know…” Cobb pulls away and rubs his thumb over Din’s jaw, “I was really lookin’ forward to seeing the kid again. He’s damn cute. It’s a shame you didn’t bring him.” Cobb smiles that winning, white-toothed smile that’s really grown on Din. _Stars, even after he gets fucked he can’t stop talking,_ Din muses as he pushes Cobb’s hair back and adjusts the blindfold behind his ears so that it won’t fall off.

“Next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, in ya brain: kudos/comment on this fic  
> you: but why  
> me, in ya brain: you gotta
> 
> ~Hunter


End file.
